He read the letter again and swore. He had no idea what this was about. Apparently Walter’s daughter needed protection? A small clue would have been helpful. And protection from what? Or was it from whom?
Also, he was surprised Walt’s daughter would be coming to Montana. That was where their paths had crossed all those years ago. He thought of the dark-haired five-year-old girl with the huge brown expressive eyes and the skinny ten-year-old kid he’d been.
He remembered the way she’d looked up at him, how he’d melted into those eyes, how he’d foolishly wanted to rescue her. What a joke. He hadn’t even been able to rescue himself. Like him, she’d been trapped in a life that wasn’t her doing.
“Any mail for me?” asked a sleepy-sounding female voice from behind him.
He folded the letter and article and shoved them into his jean jacket pocket before turning to look at the slim, beautiful blonde leaning against his kitchen counter. “Nope. Look, Leah—”
“I really appreciate you letting me stay here, Beau,” she said, cutting him off. “If this package I have coming wasn’t so important and I wasn’t between places right now...”
Beau nodded, mentally kicking himself for getting involved when she’d shown up on his doorstep. “Leah, I wish you hadn’t put me in the middle of whatever this is.”
“Please, no lectures,” she said, raising a hand. “Especially before I’ve had my coffee. You did make coffee, didn’t you? I remember that you always made better coffee than Charlie.” Her voice broke at Charlie’s name. She turned away from him, but not before he’d seen the tears.
She pulled down a clean cup and poured herself a cup of coffee before turning to him again. He studied her in the steam that rose from the dark liquid. He’d met Leah Barnhart at college when his best friend and roommate, Charlie Mack, had been dating her. The three of them had become good friends. Leah and Charlie had later married and both taken jobs abroad. Over the years, they’d kept in touch for a while, then just an occasional Christmas card. The past few years there hadn’t even been a Christmas card.
No wonder he’d been so surprised and caught off guard to find her standing on his doorstep last night.
“And you’re not in the middle of anything,” she said after taking a long drink of her coffee.
“Why are you here?”
“I told you. I’m expecting an important package. I happened to be in Montana and thought about our college days...” She met his gaze and shrugged.
He didn’t believe any of it. “Where’s Charlie? You said he’s still in Europe. I need his number.”
She looked away with a sigh. “I don’t have it.”
He glanced at her bare left-hand ring finger. “Are you divorced?”
“No, of course not.” She let out a nervous laugh. “We’re just—It’s a long story, and really not one I’m ready to get into this early in the morning. Can we talk about this later?”
He agreed, since he needed to get to work. DJ Justice would be flying into Montana in a few hours. He had to be ready. He had no idea what was required to keep her safe. It might come down to some extreme measures. Since he didn’t know why she even needed protection—or from whom—now was definitely not the time to have a houseguest, especially one who knew nothing about his life before college. He wanted to keep it that way.
“You don’t decorate for Christmas?” Leah asked as she looked around the large log home he’d built back in a small valley in the mountains not far from Big Sky. He’d bought enough land that he could have horses—and privacy. That was another reason he’d been surprised to find her on his doorstep. His place wasn’t that easy to find.
He raked a hand through his thick, unruly mop of blond hair. “I’ve never been one for holidays.”
She nodded. “I thought you’d at least have had a tree and some lights.”
He glanced at his watch. “If you need anything, call my office and talk to Marge.”
Leah made a face. “I called your office on my way here. Marge scares me.”
He doubted that. He’d known Leah a lifetime ago. Was this woman standing in his kitchen the same Leah he’d toasted when she and Charlie had married? “Marge is a little protective.”
“I should say. So you really are a private investigator?”
“That’s what my license says.”
She studied him with narrowed eyes. “Why do I get the feeling there is more to it?”
“I have no idea,” he said. “Are you sure you’ll be all right here by yourself?”
“I’ll be fine.” She smiled. “I won’t steal your silverware, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“I wasn’t. Anyway, it’s cheap flatware.”
She sobered. “I’ve missed you, Beau. Charlie and I both have. But I honestly do have a package coming here, and it’s important or I wouldn’t have done it without checking with you first.”
“Then we’ll talk later,” he said and left. It made him nervous, not knowing what was going to be required of him over the next few days or possibly longer—and having Leah here was a complication.
Turning his thoughts again to DJ Justice, he realized he was excited to see the grown-up DJ. He’d thought about her over the years and had hoped her life had turned out all right. But if she was in trouble and needed his help, then there was no way of knowing what her life had been like the past thirty years. He hated to think what kind of trouble she had gotten into that required his help.
Since her father was calling in a promise... Beau was betting it was the dangerous kind.
* * *
ANDREI LOOKED AT the coin in his hand for a long moment. His hand shook a little as he tossed the coin and watched it spin before he snatched it from the air and slapped it down on his thick wrist.
He hesitated, mentally arguing with himself. He had a bad feeling this time. But the money was good, and he’d always gone by the flip of a coin.
Superstition dictated that he went through the same steps each time. Otherwise...
He knew too well the otherwise as he slowly lifted his palm to expose the coin. Heads, he went ahead with this hit. Tails...
Heads. A strange sense of both worry and disappointment filled him. But the coin toss was sacred to him, so he assured himself he should proceed as he pocketed the coin.
Stepping to the table, he picked up the information he’d been given on the woman he was to kill.
He noticed that a prison snitch had provided her whereabouts. He snorted, shaking his head and trying to ignore that little voice in his head that was telling him this one was a mistake. But he’d worked with the man who’d hired him before, so he pushed aside his doubts and picked up the photo of Dee Anna Justice, or DJ
